She stood by the stove, cooking a stew of potatoes and beets for supper. The host had left the day before and everything was quiet again. Well, everything but her father. The past two days his fits had become more violent and Estella was worried. She tried to tend to him with warm ale and by keeping the fire in the chamber burning. But all her attempts to ease is coughing would be to no avail.

"Oh love, what shall we do? I fear for your father." Her mother said, as Estella filled a bowl with hot stew.

"So do I," Estella said. Since her father's fit two nights ago, she could hardly think of anything else. She had to help him, but she was no healer and she had only limited knowledge of herbs. For one second she had thought that she knew what to do... but then again... no... she could not do that to her parents...

"Do you think he will... die?", she asked her mother, and regretted it once the words were out.

As soon as Estella finished the question, her mother's eyes filled with tears and she opened and closed her mouth in wordless outrage. "No, he will not! He cannot! He's a little sick, that's all."

Estella knew that wasn't true, that her mother denied the truth. But how could she not? She had lost her sons. Would she be able to endure the loss of her husband as well? Estella doubted it. And it made her even more afraid.

"I'll go and bring him some of the stew", Estella said and left for the bed chamber. As always, her father sat before the fire.

"Have my sons returned?" he asked.

"No, father. They haven't. But I've brought you something to eat. Vegetable stew and ale."

Her father coughed. The room was dim, only lit by the fire that grew weaker again. But it was light enough for Estella notice some blood on her father's sleeve.

"Eat this, father. You'll feel better."

He looked at her with a gaze that said "You know I won't." but he hadn't uttered hardly any word in the past two days except for: "Have my sons returned?" It broke her heart to say "No" over and over again, and she felt like everytime she said it, her father became a little more sick.

She knelt beside him, feeding him one spoon of stew after the other. But he didn't care to eat much and he denied her attempts to make him eat a little more. Instead, he kept looking into the fire. She wondered where her father had gone and who the man on this chair was. This man had wrinkles all over his face where her father used to have only wrinkles from laughing too much. His mouth was a thin line, the eyes, that used to be of a lively green, had turned the color of a dirty pond, his hair had gone from dark brown to a salty grey.

Estella got up abruptly and left the chamber, heading to the door of the cottage.

"Where are you going?", her mother called, still sitting by the kitchen table, crying.

"I... I have to take care of the horse. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Once outside the door she almost ran to the barn. Inside, she knelt on the straw, sobbing incontrollably. Why had this to happen to them? Wasn't it hard enough to survive without her brothers? And now, even her father, the strongest man she'd ever known, stood on the brink of dying? What would her mother do without him? What would they do? The two of them, how were they to survive? She didn't know. She didn't know.

But all of a sudden a voice inside her whispered: "You do know. You know exactly what to do."

Her sobbing died down and she was able to get up again. Slowly she moved towards the destrier. He was enormously tall, but strong. He had no name, none that she knew of. She stroked his long, muscly neck, getting calmer with every stroke. She knew what to do.

Her mother sat at the exact same spot where Estella had left her minutes ago.

"Estella... are you crying?"

"It's alright, mother. Listen to me now. We both know that father is sick, very sick-"

"He's not going to die!", she repeated stubbornly.

"I know, I know," she calmed her mother, "but he is sick, nonetheless, and we need to do something. I need to do something."

"But-"

"Listen. Neither you nor I know how to heal him, but in the castles they have maesters. And they know what to do."

"Your father could never make a journey to Harrenhal. He would not make it," her mother chipped in.

"You're right. He can't. But I can."

Her mother stared at her in shock. "No! No, I will not let you go! There are outlaws out there, and worse things besides. People talk about wolf packs that kill everyone that happens to get in their way. I will not let you travel alone!"

"And I will not. The host is making his way to Harrenhal. Hopefully they didn't get far. If I follow them on the morrow, I can catch up with them. Within a host I am safe and I can fetch some balms to ease father's illness."

"But they're Lannisters!"

Estella had thought about that, too. But she hoped that Jaime Lannister was true to his word and that he would have a keener eye on his soldiers than the last time.

"They won't hurt me. They won't even know I'm there. There are other campfollows, women as well."

She could read the doubt in her mother's face. But it was the only way. She had to make her see.

"If I don't go, father will die. I know it. You know it. I must get help, or we will be by ourselves in a fortnight."

Her mother had fallen silent. She sat there, looking at her hands on the table. After moments that seemed to last an eternity she eventually said: "Yes, you have the right of it. And it breaks my heart. I would go myself, but I can't, I know that. You have to go. I only wish we'd live in safer times. But you're strong. You always were, like your father. At least like he was before..."

Estella took her mother's hand. "I will be safe. I will go to Harrenhal, and be back as quickly as I can. I have a good horse. He will see me to Harrenhal in no time."

Mother and daughter smiled at each other. Her mother squeezed Estella's hand.

"Then go, child. On the morrow. Get some rest now. I will prepare everything you need."

On the morrow Estella entered the kitchen without having had a minute of sleep. Her father had coughed all through the night and she was nervous. But there was no way around it. Her mother had prepared her a bundle with bread, cheese and smoked pork. Estella went to the barn to saddle her horse. When she was done, she led it into the open. Her mother stood there, tears in her eyes.

"You will make it, child. I believe in you." Estella kissed her mother's cheek and climbed on the back of her horse.

"I will be back in no time," she said, smiling reassuringly.

She steered her horse in the direction the host had taken. It would be easy to follow, a host left its marks, even if it was comparatively small.

Now it was up to her to save her father. Up to her and her horse. Hope. She would call it Hope.